“That is what you want?”

“His ashes, yes,” she said calmly. “I’m not expecting a service. Henry was an atheist.”

“Really.” Ferguson shrugged. “Well, if you’re happy to use our people, they could do it virtually straightaway.”

“Tomorrow afternoon?”

“I suppose so.”

“Good. If you would arrange that I’d be grateful. If you’re ordering I’d like caviar to start, a steak medium rare and a salad on the side.”

“Would you now?” Ferguson said.

“It’s called celebrating life.” She reached for Dillon’s hand. “And I’d like to dance again.” She smiled. “It’s not often I get the chance to do the foxtrot with an IRA gunman.”

There were no more than five or six people in the small oak-paneled court in Westminster the following morning. Jenny sat at the front bench with Travers and Ferguson, and Dillon stood at the back near the Court usher, once more in his flying jacket. There was a brief pause while one of the people sitting at the front approached the bench and received some sort of warrant from the Clerk of the Court. As he went out, Smith and Johnson came into the court and sat on a bench on the other side of the aisle from Dillon. They were both respectably dressed in jacket and tie, but one look was enough for Dillon. Twenty years of entirely the wrong kind of living had given him an instinct for such things.

The Clerk of the Court got things started. “Rise for her Majesty’s Coroner.”

The Coroner was old with very white hair and wore a gray suit. Jenny was surprised. She’d expected robes. He opened the file before him. “This is an unusual case and I have taken note of the facts placed before me and have decided that in consequence the presence of a jury is not necessary. Is Brigadier Charles Ferguson in court?”

Ferguson stood up. “Yes, sir.”

“I see you have served a D notice in this matter on behalf of the Ministry of Defence and this court accepts that there must be reasons for doing so affecting National Security. I accept the order and will have it entered into these proceedings. I will also, at this point, make it clear to any member of the press present that it is an offense punishable by a term of imprisonment to report details of any case covered by a D notice.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ferguson sat down.

“As the witnesses’ statements given to the police in this unfortunate matter seem perfectly straightforward, I only need official identification of the deceased to be able to close these proceedings.”

The Clerk of the Court nodded to Travers, who got up and went to the stand. The Coroner glanced at his papers. “You are Rear Admiral Garth Travers?”

“I am, sir.”

“And your relationship with the deceased?”

“A close friend of many years on vacation from St. John in the American Virgin Islands, staying with me at my house in Lord North Street.”

“And you made the official identification?” Travers nodded. “Is Miss Jennifer Grant in court?” She stood awkwardly and he said, “I have a power of attorney here in your name. You wish to claim the body?”

“I do, sir.”

“So be it and so ordered. My Clerk will issue the necessary warrant. You have the sympathy of the court, Miss Grant.”

“Thank you.”

As she sat, the Clerk called, “Rise for Her Majesty’s Coroner.”

They all did so and the Coroner went out. Travers turned to Jenny. “All right, my dear?”

“Fine,” she said, but her face was pale.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Charles is just getting the warrant. He’ll catch us up.”

They passed Dillon and went out. Smith and Johnson got up and filed out with the other people while Ferguson busied himself with the Clerk of the Court.

It was sunny outside and yet Jenny shivered slightly and drew her collar about her throat. “It’s cold.”

“You could probably do with a hot drink,” Travers said, concerned.

Dillon was standing on the top step as Ferguson joined him. Smith and Johnson had paused a little distance away by the bus stop for Smith to take out a cigarette and Johnson was lighting it for him.

Dillon said to Ferguson, “Do you know those two?”

“Why, should I?” the Brigadier asked.

At that moment a bus stopped, Smith and Johnson and a couple of other people boarded it and it pulled away. “Brigadier, I’ve lasted all these years by trusting my instincts and they tell me we’ve got a couple of bad guys there. What were they doing at the inquest anyway?”

“Perhaps you’re right, Dillon. On the other hand, there are many people who view Court proceedings of any sort as free entertainment.”

“Is that a fact now?”

The Daimler drew in to the pavement at the bottom of the steps and Jack Lane got out and joined them. “Everything go off all right, sir?”

“Yes, Jack.” Ferguson handed him the Court order. “Give that to old Cox. Tell him we’d like the cremation carried out this afternoon.” He glanced at Jenny. “Three o’clock suit you?”

She nodded, paler than ever now. “No problem.”

Ferguson turned to Lane. “You heard. There were a couple of men in Court, by the way. Dillon had his doubts about them.”

“How could he tell?” Lane asked, ignoring the Irishman. “Were they wearing black hats?”

“Jesus, would you listen to the man?” Dillon said. “Such wit in him.”

Lane scowled, took an envelope from his pocket and held it out to Ferguson. “As you ordered, sir.”

“Give it to him then.”

Lane pushed it into Dillon’s hand. “A damn sight more than you deserve.”

“What have we got here then?” Dillon started to open the envelope.

“You need clothes, don’t you?” Ferguson said. “There’s a charge card for you in there and a thousand pounds.”

Dillon took the rather handsome piece of plastic out. It was an American Express Platinum Card in his own name. “Sweet Joseph and Mary, isn’t this going a little over the top, even for you, Brigadier?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. It’s all part of a new persona I’m creating for you. You’ll be told at the right time.”

“Good,” Dillon said. “Then I’ll be on my way. I’ll get spending.”

“And don’t forget a couple of suitcases, Dillon,” Ferguson said. “You’re going to need them. Lightweight clothing, it’s hot out there at this time of year, and if it’s not too much trouble, try and look like a gentleman.”

“Wait for me,” Jenny called and turned to the other two men. “I’ll go with Dillon. Nothing else to do and it will help me kill time. I’ll see you back at the house, Admiral.”

She went down the steps and hurried after Dillon. “What do you think?” Travers asked.

“Oh, she has depths, that girl, she’ll make out,” Ferguson said. “Now let’s get moving,” and he led the way down to the car.

As the Daimler was driving along Whitehall toward the Ministry of Defence, the car phone sounded. Lane, sitting on the pull-down seat, his back to the chauffeur, answered, then glanced up at Ferguson, a hand over the receiver.

“The Deputy Director, Brigadier. He says he’d like an updating on how things are going. Wonders whether you could meet him and Sir Francis at Parliament. Afternoon tea on the Terrace.”

“The cremation is at three,” Ferguson said.

“You don’t need to be there,” Travers told him. “I’ll see to it.”

“But I’d like to be there,” Ferguson said. “It’s the civilized thing to do. The girl needs our support.” He said to Lane, “Four-thirty to five. Best I can do.”

Lane confirmed the appointment and Travers said, “Very decent of you, Charles.”

“Me, decent?” Ferguson looked positively wicked. “I’ll take Dillon along and introduce him. Just imagine, Sean Dillon, the Carlos of our times, on the Terrace of the Houses of Parliament. I can’t wait to see Simon Carter’s face,” and he started to laugh helplessly.

Dillon and Jenny made for Harrods. “Try and look like a gentleman, that’s what the man said,” he reminded her. “What do you suggest?”